


Always you

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Crying, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Homesickness, Kissing, Love Confessions, Protective Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6267427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend lacks the nerve to confess her love to Thorin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always you

 

Song lyrics are “When Morning Is Breaking,” an old Welsh air.

—————————————

It was undeniably a beautiful, late-summer day in the valley, and your view from one of Erebor’s many terraces was unrivaled, but the loveliness of the sultry blue sky, sparkling river, and splashes of color from wildflowers among the waving grasses was lost on you as you stood leaning on the carved stone balustrade and absentmindedly rubbing your knee where it had collided with a table leg in your hasty retreat from the festivities in the Great Hall.

There had been many jubilant feasts in the month since you’d arrived at last in your ancestral home, but with each one, you had felt your celebratory mood slipping away.

For two long years, your thoughts had been full of Thorin. During the busy routine of the daylight hours, you missed his comradeship, his conversation, his steady presence, and at night, you lay in your bed with your heart seeming to burn within your chest, consumed with fear for his safety, anxiety that he might forget his friends left behind…and with the love that you had recognized for what it was only after he had kissed your cheek and walked away with his companions in the dim light of dawn.

You had dreamed of the day you would see him again, perhaps even find the courage to confess that your feelings of friendship had blossomed into something more, but when that reunion came, in the grand halls of Erebor, you found yourself overwhelmed by the regal figure that stood before you. There was no less warmth in his smile, no less fondness in his welcoming embrace, but the King clad in rich furs and crowned with an ornate gold diadem made you somehow wistful for the Thorin you’d always known, the man who had dusted metal shavings from his worn tunic and washed his face with water from the rain barrel outside your parents’ home before joining your family for a simple meal.

Now, meals often brought a parade of rich dishes and sweet wines, golden plates and napkins of fine linen, hours spent picking at various delicacies while the daughters of the most powerful dwarf-lords flocked to Thorin, flirting and preening and striving to make their impression on this new King, whom they expected must surely now turn his attention to the task of finding a Queen.

When the most beautiful of the young dwarrowdams approached Thorin with an effortless curtsy and was rewarded with an affable smile and the offer of an empty seat beside him, you had excused yourself, pleading a headache, and escaped to the terrace where you now stood brooding alone.

Alone, until the footfall of heavy boots caught your ear, and before your heart could decide whether to soar or sink, Thorin stood beside you with a tentative look. Your stomach lurched at the sight of him…the silver streaks in his dark hair that gave him an air of majesty, his sturdy, capable hands, the lines that traced his smiles around his blue, blue eyes…oh, you could happily drown in those eyes.

He spoke, and the rich timbre of his voice sent a pang of yearning through you. “Are you well? Your mother said you had a headache.”

“I’m fine,” you quickly shook your head. “Just…” you trailed off helplessly, dropping your gaze to the floor, and he tilted his head to draw it upward again.

“Just what?”

A sigh escaped your lips. “I miss Ered Luin,” you admitted sheepishly, a half-truth. “I miss the way things were there.”

He nodded for a moment before giving you a sympathetic smile. “I understand.”

“But you don’t,” you reminded him. “You are _home._ You belong here…you’re the King. I’m nobody.“

“You are much more than that,” he said gently. “And you belong here, as much as I.”

You fell silent, gazing over the valley, and he leaned his shoulder against yours and began to softly hum a tune that coaxed a small smile to your lips.

“You know I love that song.”

He smiled in return and began to sing quietly, only for your ears, in his deep, melodic voice.

_When morning is breaking_  
_O'er mountain and dale,_  
 _And sunlight illumines_  
 _Our home in the vale._  
 _Fresh, soft balmy breezes,_  
 _The lark’s thrilling lay,_  
 _Are heralds foretelling_  
 _The gladness of day._  
  
_When evening is closing_  
 _On mountain and dale,_  
 _And darkness o'er shadows_  
 _Our home in the vale._  
 _The field flowers drooping,_  
 _As fast fades the light,_  
 _Give warning foreboding,_  
 _The sadness of night._

His voice surrounded you like a warm blanket, bringing back memories of simpler times, and without warning, a fat tear welled and trickled, and before you could wipe it away, Thorin’s encouraging smile faded and he clasped your shoulders with concern.

“I am sorry, dear one, I meant only to cheer you.”

Your attempt to be stoic was fruitless as months of pent-up emotion rose to the surface, shuddering in your throat and spilling to your cheeks. His arms enveloped you, drawing you to his chest, and you buried your face in the soft fur of his collar and wept out your discouragement and longing while he rubbed small circles over your back and murmured soft, sweet words.

“Shhh…it’s all right,” he soothed, taking your face in his hands, his warm palms cradling your cheeks, “everything will be right.” His lips pressed affectionately against your forehead. “Shhh…” He kissed your wet cheeks, swept away the tracks of your tears with his thumbs, whispered, “don’t cry,“ as his nose brushed your own. “My sweet one…”

His voice trailed off, and his lips gently met yours, soft, warm, lush, the tenderness of their caress and the surprise of the moment making your knees feel weak.

“Thorin!” It was a gasp of joy, and your fingers strayed to the thick locks of his hair, but your voice seemed to give him pause, and he broke from you, pulling back to look into your eyes.

“Forgive me,” he worried breathlessly, “I should not have assumed you would welcome…”

“Thorin,” you interjected, “I do welcome you. I do. Always.”

Gladness and relief mingled on his face. “Yes?”

“With all my heart.”

His strong arms slipped around your waist, and you buried your hands in his hair as you’d long yearned to do while you kissed him lovingly, eagerly, and when he sighed and held you close, tucking your head snugly beneath his chin, you felt as though this might be a happy dream from which you would soon wake. Tentatively, you lifted your head to look into his eyes.

“Is it me that you want, Thorin?”

“It has always been you,” he smiled, drawing a shaky laugh from your still-tingling lips. “It was you in Ered Luin, when I had not the spirit to tell you…it was you on every lonely night of the quest when I despaired of ever seeing you again. And it is you now that I wear the crown of Durin.” His tone grew more tender still. “I love you, my ghivâshel.”

“And I love you,” you beamed, stroking his bearded cheek. “But…but you’re the King,” you said again, fretful, “and there are so many ladies here who are beautiful, and graceful…and I can scarcely cross the room without tripping on the hem of my gown.”

“Oh, amrâlimê,” his eyes twinkled with his fond chuckle, and he lifted your hand to press it to his lips. “All the more reason for me to be here to catch you.”


End file.
